Potentially Lovely Perpetually Human
by Holz090
Summary: Peter finally persuades Carla to open up about her childhood. Originally started as a request, although it turned into something different. Title is the lyrics from a Regina Spektor song.
1. Chapter 1

Ok so this was originally going to be a oneshot, but due to sheer length, it's now become a 2-parter. If at any point I've written the words "eye contract", blame The Apprentice, which I was watching at the time, and read that as eye CONTACT.

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Potentially Lovely, Perpetually Human. 

She stirred almost aggressively, tugging the majority of the duvet across to her side of the bed, before the guilt kicked in and she threw it back over with a single swipe of her right arm. She was half hanging off the bed now, clinging to her top pillow as though it would save her from falling and not merely tumble down with her.

Noting her stirring, Peter turned to his girlfriend and croaked in that way first-word-of-the-morning way. "What the hell?"

"Sorry" Carla replied quickly, without turning round or making any real movement for that matter.

Still exhausted after another night of scattered sleep, Peter merely rolled back over, tucking his feet behind him and one hand under the pillows.

No one spoke for almost a minute, before Carla, reading the time on the flashing LED alarm to be 5:11, sighed and climbed out of bed, without uttering another word.

"Carla?" Peter sighed, sitting up although clearly resenting the action. "It's 5am love, go back to sleep 'ey?" His voice was tinged with a faint utterance of resentment that bellowed in Carla's ear and made her heart sink ever so slightly at the realization that this is what he thought of her now.

"And dream that again? No thanks".

"Dream what?" He asked, although she could tell it was more habit and not compassion that drove his question.

"That I was pregnant".

The lack of emotion in her voice, combined with the speed at which she threw her dressing gown on and left the room momentarily struck him dumb.

"Oh." He responded to the empty room.

She sat perched on the kitchen counter, absent-mindedly circling the top of her mug with her thumb as she clutched it, her eyes scanning the collection of photos on the wall. Childhood snapshots: a grinning young child stood almost naked in what looked like a caravan park; family photos; smiling relatives in a warm embrace. After Leanne had come to collect her belongings and taken her share of the photos down, he'd asked her if she wanted to add anything to fill the gaps. She hadn't had the heart to tell him she didn't have anything suitable, so she'd made a joke and deflected the question, hoping he'd forget about it. And he had- the gaps seemed to have been compensated for by a reshuffling instead.

He watched her from behind the wall separating the kitchen from the bedrooms, unsure of whether or not to approach her. He watched as her eyes travelled up and down the collection of photos. He saw the brief flicker of a smile at some of the older ones, but he knew there she was more going round her head than how awful his hair had been when Simon was four.

As she slid of the work surface, he took his chance to reveal himself, strolling casually into the room as though he'd just left the bedroom. She turned quickly when she heard his footsteps, looking suddenly awkward. He was glad he hadn't interrupted her before.

"Hey love, are you alright?"

She put her mug down on the table and pulled out the chair nearest the bathroom to sit on. "I didn't mean to wake you" she answered, sounding genuinely guilty.

"Oh it's fine, I was pretty much ready to get up anyway." he lied, knowing full well this was another attempt at the deflection she was so keen on. "So, tell me about this dream then". He tried to sound casual, but knew he was probably failing.

"Oh, it's nothing, just silly really. One of those weird, trippy dreams that seem real at the time, y'know? Probably put too much cheese in that pasta last night or something!" She was already on her feet again. "Anyway, since I'm up I might as well get ready. I could do with a bit of quiet before the mob arrive to get some paperwork done, anyway".

He grabbed her arm just slightly, still hyperaware of grabbing or pushing her in any way. "Carla…"

"What? I told you, it was nothing!"

"If it was nothing then why not just tell me?"

She sighed, outwardly looking annoyed, but he knew her well enough to realise this was fear, not anger. "Because, Peter, I told you. I need to get on with some work before the girls arrive."

"It's half past five, now please, love, sit down".

For a moment she merely stood there, shaking her head slightly at herself, before she seemed to give in and sit back down. She ran her tongue over her teeth as though working out how to phrase something, before eventually opening her mouth to speak. "Alright look, it wasn't the dream, ok? Well it was, but…"

"But what?"

She pulled her hands up to her face to illustrate her frustration, her tone slightly stressed. Peter couldn't help but be reminded of that night when she'd first admitted to how she felt about him. The night he'd stupidly turned her down and set of the chain of events that had led to the most terrifying night of her life.

"Argh, it's so stupid!" She uttered through gritted teeth. When he didn't respond, she slammed both hands down on the table in defeat. "In this dream, right… Well all women dream of being pregnant at some point, I mean it must be the first entry in the dream book."

"Right… But…?"

"Well it just… It was more my reaction to it, y'know?"

"Your reaction?"

She sighed, edging slightly back in her chair. "No, I… I don't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like… the thought of having a baby with you terrified me because, well…."

"I wasn't thinking that." He paused. "I saw you looking at the photos" he gestured his head towards the photos on the kitchen wall.

She smiled. "It's what they're there for, in't it?"

He could practically see her slipping straight back into denial, the barriers shooting up again. "Carla… When I asked you to put a few of your photos up, you shrugged it off. Why?"

She looked awkward for a second, taking a long swig from her mug before answering. "Well, you don't want a load of photos of people you've never even met clogging up your walls, do you?"

"Why not? It's your home too, now".

She smiled coyly, still slightly uncomfortable at the idea of calling this flat her home. "Well, technically but…"

"But what?" he moved his chair closer to hers, leaning towards her in an attempt to comfort her. "Carla come on, just be honest with me. I deserve that at least, surely?"

"Honest about what? Look, I'm not a photo person, Ok? Is that a crime?" She edged away from him a little, turning her face to the window to avoid the eye contact she knew would betray her anxiety.

"I think…" he continued, placing his hand over hers. "That the reason you didn't want any photos up is the same as why you never mention your family, why you immediately go quiet the second childhood comes up in a conversation."

"Oh, really?" she scoffed, turning to face him again. "Go on then, enlighten me, Dr Barlow. What's that?"

"Because you don't want to remember. Because you're ashamed, because… it's somehow too painful".

She swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat, trying to ignore the burning sensation of tears beginning to form. "I wasn't some molested child, y'know. They never locked me in a cupboard for days on end y'know, or set me alight or whatever else your vivid imagination is coming up with".

"Ok." His tone softened, he was getting somewhere at least. "So what did happen?"

Carla pretended to be confused. "What?"

Peter shifted slightly in his chair, turning his body so he now faced his girlfriend face on. Squeezing her hands more tightly now, he spoke softly and slowly, as though talking to a traumatised child. Which, he suspected, he very well might be. "Remember that night, after the incident with Mr Packham at the school gates?"

Carla rolled her eyes, leaning backwards and pulling her hands free; instantly defensive. "Oh, here we go!"

"No…" He took her hands back, maintaining eye contact whilst trying not to remain calm. "When I spoke to you about it, you said something that stuck in my mind. You said you'd been treated like a ragdoll all your life, do you remember?"

She was noticeably uncomfortable now, her eyes darting around the room, her bottom lip trembling slightly. She sniffed and turned to face him again. "I just meant, y'know with Frank and… and with Tony, y'know he…"

"I don't think that is what you meant, love".

"Peter, I…" She physically squirmed, looking desperately for a distraction but failing to find one. "I don't know what you mean."

"Listen," he reasoned, seeing the near frantic state the woman he loved was now in. "You don't have to tell me, and I'm not gonna force you to do or say anything that you don't want to. But I think, deep down, you want to be honest with me. I think it's all festered inside you and now you have to let that out".

Carla smiled to herself: He knew her too well, yet he still knew nothing.

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, she nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for all the reviews for the first chapter - they made my day/night! _

_This contains a reference to a spoiler for next week (So I'm assuming this is set at the end of that week or sometime around then), so don't read if you somehow manage to stay spoiler free. _

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Peter placed two fresh mugs of coffee on the table in front of them as he sat back down on the sofa. Carla sat scrunched up in one corner, hugging a cushion to her chest, picking aimlessly at a jagged nail. He hoped she hadn't changed her mind in the time he'd spent in the kitchen. "Right". He said merely to say something; to break the ice.

"Right…" She echoed, an awkward tone to her voice.

Neither of them were quite sure what to say or do next. He didn't want to push her, but he equally knew that the longer they sat here in silence, the more chance that she'd edit out the difficult bits, or make up an excuse not to say anything at all. Stretching one arm out along the back of the sofa, he spoke tentatively. "What did you mean by your reaction to this dream?"

She smiled at his outstretched hand, this one action telling more than any number of words. He wasn't forceful, nor imposing. There was no pressure for her to reciprocate, but if she needed it, he was there. Still, she didn't unwrap her arms from the cushion. "Um…" The jagged nail had been replaced by a piece of lose thread on the edge of her dressing gown in the minor distractions stakes. "I suppose it just kind of brought stuff up, y'know? Made me think about…" she shrugged, not knowing to end that sentence.

"Think about what?"

"About…life, families, I dunno".

"Your family?"

She shrugged. "I guess so, yeah."

As much as he didn't want to be, he knew he was going to have to be more direct if he wanted to get an answer out of her before they really did need to go to work. He knew there was no chance of the conversation resuming that evening if things went unsaid now.

"Were you close?" He thought back to the day of her mother's funeral, the guilt she carried, and wished all over again that Leanne hadn't interrupted what he now realised to have been a crucial moment.

"I suppose me and my brother were. Once upon a time".

"And your parents?"

She chuckled to herself. "Um… We didn't really go in for the whole Walton's thing, y'know?"

Peter smiled but said nothing.

"Well, y'see 'cause my Dad… When he was there for not it di'n't make any huge difference and…" She threw her head back now, laughing softly at something she clearly found amusing.

"What?"

"You are gonna think so badly of me when I say this."

He took hold her hand now, slightly rougher than he intended but she didn't appear to be disturbed by this. "No I won't, Carla. Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. It's not now. Hey, if you judged me by my past or my family then you certainly wouldn't be here-!"

"Your family are good people. They love you. You should show them more respect." She hadn't meant to come out with that, and immediately regretted it. Peter was visibly taken aback, despite his efforts to disguise it.

"Ok…"

"I'm sorry I… I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean it… I'm just gonna…" She stood up to walk away, but he gripped her hand, persuading her to sit back down.

"No, please look, it's fine. You're probably right anyway". He reassured her, knowing he'd unintentionally latched onto something here. "You know I, I go on about how hard done by I am but at least me and my Dad are on speaking terms." He suddenly felt guilty for all those times he'd moaned about his father in front of her. From what little he did know, she'd have killed to have something so relatively minor to moan about.

She was silent for a moment, starring down at her feet, now curled up in front of her.

"Go on…" He prompted.

"Ok well… As I'm sure you've gathered from the accent I wasn't exactly brought up in the lap of luxury". She pulled her hand away now, and Peter knew better than to take it back.

"Mmm".

"And well, sometimes when you're in a situation like that, when you're broke and desperate and have people relying on you… well you have to do things that you're maybe not proud of".

"Of course…"

"So I don't hate her for it, or… Y'know I don't judge her for it and I totally understand why she did it…"

Peter frowned, scanning his memory for any indication of what may be coming. He found nothing.

"She being… your mother?"

Carla nodded. "Yeah." She said quickly.

"Right, ok. What don't you hate her for, Carla?"

She paused for a moment, a look on her face that he couldn't quite work out. "For dealing drugs out my brother's pram". She spoke quickly, matter of factly, looking him right in the eyes for a few seconds before her head shot down again.

Peter was momentarily speechless as the enormity of what she'd just said dawned on him. "She… she sold drugs out of his pram?" He repeated pointlessly, not knowing what else to say.

Carla smiled to herself in mock amusement. "All these people used to come up to us in the street, y'know. One day when I was about… 5 or summet… She put this little package in my bag for school, wrapped it a few carrier bags y'know… told me it was nothing to worry about but not to tell anyone at school about it. She said this bloke called Stuart who I'd met a few times before would come and see me at lunch, that I had to meet him at the gates when the teachers weren't looking and give it to him".

Peter knew he wasn't hiding his horror and disgust at all: He felt his face screw up as he wondered what kind of sick individual would use a five year old as a drugs mule. His stomach churned and he felt like he might be sick.

When he didn't say anything in response, Carla smiled to herself and shrugged. "So there you go. That's the big secret. I spent my childhood doing drugs runs for my mum when she was too wasted to do it herself, so no we didn't really get much time for the whole mother-daughter bonding stuff if I'm honest."

Peter still had no idea what to say, so he merely took his girlfriend's hand back and moved closer to comfort her. "Love, I… I don't know what to say. Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

She leaned away from him. "Because…" her face fell. "Because what sane person would want someone like that round their kid?"

"Carla, you're nothing like your mum".

She scoffed. "Oh really? 'Roughest girl from the estate', Liam called me. Carla Donovan, ooh, don't mess with her!" There was anger in her voice now. "'She'll give as good as she gets and then some.'. Why do you think Paul's family always hated me so much?"

Peter was once again unable to think of a single word in response. He could feel the deep self-hatred pouring from her and it killed him, yet he felt completely powerless to help her.

"But Carla look, people can change. You certainly have."

"Oh yeah? The expensive clothes and designer handbags can only go so far, Peter"

"Carla you're a different person now. You never were like her and you certainly aren't now". He hated the endless clichés he was spouting, but he could think of no better response. And anyway, it was all true.

"You think? What about last week then, when I nearly _killed_ your son? No, I'm exactly like her, Peter. I wouldn't inflict myself on some poor unborn child and I won't inflict this on Simon, either. I'm sorry".

With that, she pulled away from him and marched into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her, leaving Peter sat alone, dumbstruck at what had what just happened.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again for all the reviews - they genuinely do mean a lot. Here's the final part.

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He deliberately left it several minutes before following her into the bedroom. Even from where he sat on the sofa, he could hear her stifled sobs that he knew she hoped he wouldn't hear. He swallowed the remaining mouthfuls of his now stone cold coffee, before standing to place both his and her untouched cup in the sink, more as a stalling technique than anything.

He knew she'd feel uncomfortable if he saw her cry. It seemed crazy to him that they'd been through so much together and yet she still seemed to feel she had put on a front to him. There was a time when that hadn't been the case, and he hated himself for destroying that sacred trust.

When the room appeared to fall silent, Peter took his chance to lightly knock on the door.

"Carla…?"

When no answer came, he pushed the door open anyway, albeit carefully, worried he'd startle her. Just as he expected, Carla spun round before attempting to compose herself. Seeing her rush to wipe the tears from her eyes broke his heart more than it would have to see them fall. She pulled the sleeves of her jumper up over her hands, clutching the fabric into a fist in both hands, before turning slowly to face him. "Oh, hey…". She spoke softly and delicately, not quite embarrassed at being caught out, but certainly uncomfortable at the prospect of him seeing her like this.

"Hey." He replied an equally soft tone, sitting next to her on the bed, placing a compassionate hand on the shoulder nearest him.

"I didn't mean that about… about Si". She sniffed, pushing a clump of hair behind her ear.

Peter sighed, moving closer still to his girlfriend so that their legs pressed together. She'd just confided something so huge to him, and all she could feel was guilt. Sometimes he wondered what he'd done to her. "I know, love." He paused for a moment, trying to work out the right thing to say. "And if it counts for anything I never thought that. I still don't".

She looked up at him; straight into his eyes, and gave a watery smile. "You should do. Everyone else will".

"Who?"

She smiled to herself. "Oh come on, who wouldn't love to see what a try hard little fake Carla Connor is? I'm not stupid, I know what they all say behind my back as it is. And as for Stella… Leanne? God, they'd have a field day with this one! You can kiss Goodbye to Simon, y'know I really should...-"

"Hey…" He took hold of her hands now, a lump forming in his throat as he felt them shake. "You come from that and you make a new life for yourself. How can anyone criticise you for that?"

Carla wiped a tear from the corner of one eye. "Oh, I wish I had your faith in people!"

For a few minutes neither said a word as Carla leaned her head on his shoulder, twisting the wedding ring he still wore around his finger aimlessly. "You know I…" she sighed, unsure of whether to finish her sentence; afraid he'd take it the wrong way.

When she trailed off, Peter turned to face her. "You what, love?"

"Well I… I see you and Simon y'know and… he's got so many people who care about him, who'd do absolutely anything for him and-" She stopped abruptly, wiping a tear from her cheek with the hand he wasn't still clinging to.

"Go on…" Peter stroked the top of her hand as though she were a small child or a sick family member in a hospital bed.

She sighed, pulling out a tissue from her dressing gown pocket and wiping her eyes with it, streaks of yesterday's mascara rubbing off onto it. She pulled a face at her own stupidity for sleeping in a full face of makeup, before stuffing the tissue back into her pocket and turning to face Peter. "I'm jealous of an 8 year old boy, how mental is that?" She replied, anger in her voice.

Potential responses, comforting words buzzed around Peter's head, but he seemed to have lost the ability to string them into a sentence. In that moment, he was instantly struck by such a strong sense of deep, lifelong loneliness and rejection that he wanted to cry himself. Suddenly it all made sense, and he rued every throwaway comment he'd ever made about what an interfering old hypocrite his father was. Still unable to come up with any justifiable response – how the hell does anyone respond to something like that, he instead merely pulled her close, into a tight embrace. She remained stiff for a moment before finally accepting his support, her nails almost digging into his back as she realized just how much she needed him.

After several minutes, she pulled away and he pulled her face back up to meet his, wiping a falling tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Carla listen to me, I don't care who or what you were in the past. All that matters is the person you are now, and I love you so, so much, ok?" He was welling up himself now. "And I promise you, on my life that will never change".

They were feeble words, but they seemed to at least bring her some comfort, as she gave him a slight smile, before kissing him gently on the lips and resting her head on his shoulder, slowly wrapping her arms around him again and pulling in close. Her voice was soft and muffled, but the single response she uttered he knew would stay with him for a long time. Two words that told him more about this woman than he'd learned in the two years.

"Thank you"


End file.
